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“A stolen kiss—”

“I made a promise. More than one, in fact. Emma . . .”

“Fine. I accept. But I don’t understand—”

“That way.” He nodded to the corridor on her right. “We’re likely to be missed . . .”

When it was evident he wasn’t going to say anything more, Emma turned away and continued through the passageway. What the devil was that?

Graeme de Sowlis has shown an interest in you.

He could have just as easily said allow me to melt your insides first before we join our host for supper.

Their corridor spilled directly into the hall. As Garrick had predicted, the evening meal was well underway. Their host stood at the other end of the room, alone on the raised dais. Perhaps two dozen or so men sat scattered throughout the room. Just a few ladies, likely the wives of the clansmen who served the chief.

The chief stepped down and walked over to her, taking her hand in his and leading her to the dais. She snuck a glance at him as they walked. Handsome, no doubt. He looked to be about the same age as Garrick, nine and twenty or so. Young, for a chief. And an earl. But if the man had taken a special interest in her, Emma couldn’t sense it. Though his courteous manner was what she’d expect for a man of his station, he seemed to look at her as he would any guest. Garrick must have been mistaken.

When they sat, she glanced around the hall, Garrick on Graeme’s other side.

“It looks much the same as Kenshire’s hall,” she said.

“Not so grand as that, my lady,” Graeme said.

Though they were but a day’s ride from the border, she’d already sensed the suspicion of those around her. Such trepidation was to be expected. It was much the same in England, although less so at Kenshire. Being intermarried to a Scottish family had a way of tempering the usual contempt between the English and the Scots.

She took a sip of the soup, which was a fine barley, one of her favorites.

“I met your brother, once.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile even though the memory was anything but amusing. “Aye, when he and Toren Kerr attempted to lop off each other’s heads. I heard about that meeting.”

As an ally to Clan Kerr, Graeme de Sowlis had been there for the fight between her brother and Toren, the man he’d considered his greatest enemy. Luckily, Catrina had put a premature stop to the fight. Otherwise it would have ended with one of them dead.

Emma suddenly remembered something Catrina had once told her.

“You and Lady Catrina . . .” She snapped her mouth shut before realizing she’d crossed a line. Leaning forward just slightly to catch a glimpse of Garrick, she immediately wished she hadn’t. The look he gave her was anything but encouraging.

She focused on their host instead.

“I am so sorry if I’ve caused offense—”

“Nay, apologies are unnecessary. Catrina and I were very good friends.”

“Were?”

“Are good friends,” he said. “I’ve met your brother since that day.”

She looked up in surprise as the soup was cleared and trenches of roasted duck were placed in front of them.

“Just a few weeks past, in fact. As neighbors, your brother and I have much to discuss with attacks seemingly on the rise. After spending two nights at Bristol, I can see why Catrina married him.”

“You can?”

She supposed it was uncharitable of her to sound so surprised. After all, she loved her brother. And, unaccountably, Catrina did as well. But his disposition was typically not so easily understood by strangers, and there was no denying that his clash with the Kerrs had very nearly led to someone’s death.

“He is quite intelligent,” Sowlis said. “And very loyal to Catrina. I’m happy for them both.”

Emma did not detect the slightest hint of untruth or malice in his statement. Indeed, he seemed quite sincere. How could a man who was once betrothed, or at least nearly betrothed, to a woman be so casual about her decision to marry another? What an extraordinary man Graeme was!